Mamma's always right
by public static void
Summary: After his final year at Hogwarts, Blaise is worried about his future. His friends seem to have already found their calling, even if unhappiness clings to them. Blaise is different from them and all he wants is to enjoy the little things in life.


For the Mother's Day 2017 Event at **The Golden Snitch** for **Durmstrang Institute** :)

Mrs Zabini — (name) Gisella*, (word) black widow, (word) stepfather, (colour) scarlet, (object) chandelier, (word) disguise, (word) son.

Sorry for my Italian. It was done with google translate :P so if you notice anything is wrong, do tell me so I can fix it :)

* * *

There is one time in Blaise's life when everything seems to fall apart.

He is sitting on the Hogwarts Express, going back home after that additional eighth year, alone and bored. His friends have all moved on; Draco is managing his family's many businesses, Daphne is finally writing her stories and publishing them, and Pansy is married to some French guy who thinks he can deal with her (he wonders if he already has noticed how impossible Pansy is).

Yet, here he is: not a child anymore (but really, who has the time to be a child when there's a war in the background?) and not yet an adult in the rigorous sense of the word. Hell, he thinks, leaning back into the seat of the train he will never board again, I don't even know how to make a tax declaration.

Of course, the family has someone who deals with that.

He sighs, looking at the train's roof. He will miss the safety of Hogwarts. Not physical safety, as multiple attempts in people's lives have proved, but the safety of knowing himself in a place where he can be at peace under the comfortable blanket of his teenage years.

He's nineteen now, and the only from his group of friends who doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. Maybe something related to Potions; he knows quite a lot about poison.

Blaise sighs again and absentmindedly waves his wand, drawing with black and scarlet tendrils of magic on the window's glass. The result, a pretty hellebore flower, reminds him of his mother.

He perks up at the slowing down of the train, happy at the prospect of being reunited with her after a year of loneliness (because not even beautiful Susan Bones can make up for his missing friends).

* * *

When Blaise gets off the train, she's the first person he sees. La mia mamma is beautiful, he thinks, not for the first time.

He walks towards her, his baggage floating a foot from the ground behind him, and smiles when she pulls him into her arms and reaches up to kiss his cheeks. She's a tall woman, but she also has a tall son.

"I missed you, Blaise," she tells him, always so open with her emotions (it has worked for her, time after time, man after man). The smile in her scarlet lips can't be wider or more beautiful, and Blaise can see she is truly happy to have him there.

Maybe there is one good thing about not having made up his mind on what to do now that he has graduated because he gets to live with her for a bit more. It's quite a silly thing to want, but Blaise and his mother have always been close (they have to be because the rumours spread faster than weeds among the wheat).

"I missed you too, Madre," he affectionately answers, keeping her hand on his own. "Why are you in disguise?"

She smiles at the question, laughing beautifully and not at all like Pansy and Daphne's nonsensical giggles.

"Because I am at work, son," she says merrily, which makes him smirk, knowing they will be richer by the end of the week. "That gentleman over there Mario Ricci, il mio marito."

Blaise raises an eyebrow. "First you're wearing old woman clothes and now you tell me you married without me? I'm hurt, Mamma. I was present in all your weddings."

"Not all of them, dear," his mother says as they both walk to the man who seems to be getting nervous with all the looks they are getting. "There was that one wedding when you didn't exist yet."

"To Papa, si," Blaise nods. "But let's see what's this one made of."

"Be gentle, _potatino_."

"Stop calling me _potatino_ , Mamma. I'm not _twelve,_ " he whispers, rolling his eyes as she smiles. He can endure the name if he gets to see Mamma smiling like that.

"Buonasera, Signore Ricci," he greets unenthusiastically. The man, Mario Ricci, is not impressive (no one can be more impressive than Antonio Reyes, but at the end, he dies like the others and his mother's count goes up to twelve). "Mi chiamo Blaise, and I'm told you're my new stepfather."

"Si, si," the man says, nervously. "I'm sorry you couldn't be there with us, figlio, but it was a rushed affair."

It's then that the man gets a smile. It's calm and relaxed as if he can forget all the evils of the world around him. He looks at his mother and understands: the man is completely smitten. Even worse than poor, poisoned Victor Bianchi who ends up with a purple face and black blood.

"Alright..." Blaise says, not knowing what else to do.

Luckily, Mamma always knows when he's uncomfortable.

"Let's go home, Mario," she says, letting go of Blaise's arm to join hands with her new husband. "You'll get to know each other comfortably at home. Maybe with a glass of _rosso_."

"I prefer a brandy, Mamma," Blaise says his part, already knowing what to do. He's been helping her since the German Renard Roth, and he knows this is all part of her plan.

And it is.

They Apparate home and Blaise is taken aback by the subtle changes of his home, mainly the overwhelming quantity of plum–flowered rhododendron.

"Are you planning to open up your own Apothecary, Mamma?" he asks discretely when they arrive.

"And waste the hemlock in people who won't use it properly? As if."

He smirks, entering the house and breathing in the scent of home.

"Nice chandelier," he says, pointing at the dark crystal object hanging from the ceiling. The scarlet flame of the candles gives the room a cosy atmosphere. Blaise grins. Everything screams home.

"The black diamonds are a nice contrast to the white walls. With all those dark shadows, the chandelier reminds me of a black widow, don't you think?"

She is smirking as she leads both men to the kitchen. Blaise likes that, because he knows Draco's dinners are the only time he eats with his parents, and they're apart from one another when they sit on their fancy, long table. The kitchen is for families. And their visitors, he thinks when he looks at Mario.

The _rosso_ is already out and his mamma is pouring them both some.

Blaise can worry about his future later. For now, he'll stay at home and help Mamma with her job.

* * *

"You seemed worried when you got off the train."

Blaise stands from the bed, setting aside his book as he looks at his mother. The disguise of a lonely widow mother is almost too much, but Gisella wears it with grace. Someday, Blaise wants to be just like hers: never worried about gossip and completely focused on her _work_.

"All my friends are grown, Mamma. I feel left behind, but I don't want the kind of life everyone expects me to have. First with the war and now with being a proper wizard with a Ministry career. It's not what I want."

She sits on the chair by his desk, nodding at his words. Blaise likes that he can be honest with her without fearing recriminations or shame. His mother always listens.

"You don't have to rush anything Blaise," she says. "People can't make life changing decisions in a single night. It usually turns out badly."

Blaise frowns. He knows that, having read Draco's letters of being worried about the choices he makes during the war, or when he remembers Pansy's wide, fake eyes at her wedding.

"What if I never find something I want to do?"

He's worried, thinking that no common jobs are what he looks for; he won't be happy as a Ministry worker or as a shopkeeper. At the same time, he wonders if he might have the answer already.

"Then you keep on living here and we make the best of what we have," his mother answers without letting a heartbeat pass between their words.

Blaise looks at her and thinks if it can be really that easy.

"You can always be the head of the family business, potatino."

At that, Blaise looks up. He can do that. He's been helping her along since he learns to speak and walk, and he's _good_ at it. The pretence, the intrigue, the suspense of knowing what they are going to do.

Blaise smiles. "Seems I had already found my calling."


End file.
